


From Enemies To Ambiguity

by immortalbears



Series: One Shots and Standalones [12]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 23:44:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12758700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immortalbears/pseuds/immortalbears
Summary: Sharkface wakes up in the hospital, confronted with the consequences of what he has done under the Mercs. As he continues to talk to Agent Carolina, Agent Washington, and even Red Team, he slowly experiences an emotional transformation.RVB Reverse Big Bang (2017) entry. My artist is not-so-serious-wastebasket on Tumblr.





	From Enemies To Ambiguity

**Author's Note:**

> [Not-so-serious-wastebasket](https://not-so-serious-wastebasket.tumblr.com/)'s[artpieces here.](https://not-so-serious-wastebasket.tumblr.com/post/167637406786/for-the-reverse-big-bang-and-please-check-out)

Give away the stone. Let the waters kiss and

Transmutate these leaden grudges into gold.

Let go.

\-- Tool, _The Grudge_

 

It was one of those dreams, nostalgic as always. There, Sharkface was still Terrence, and Girly was still Girly, not a corpse with bullet holes in her body. Armstrong was still in one piece. He wasn’t quite sure how he died, or if he was truly called Armstrong, but he imagined the irony of Armstrong’s strong arms being twisted and bent out of shape, and he wished that neither of them had really died, especially not like _that_.

Sharkface really wasn’t the sort to feel sad, but once the anger faded, there really wasn’t anything left but sadness. There was all sorts of things that brought him comfort and made him happy in that dream, and happiness was precisely what he tried to avoid, since they were all temporary and unreal, and now all he had left to his life was that touch-starved feeling where connecting to others did not feel genuine nor real, because those blasted Freelancers took away everything from him-- his livelihood, his job, his family, and-- with all of that, his sense of _self_.

For so long, he had been staring into the walls of his cell, at the bars outside, a dinky squat hole for a toilet matted with other inmates’ pubic hair and covered in dried pee and shitstains, a wash basin covered in dirt, mold and unmentionable stains, and a “bed” that felt like the equivalent of a torture rack. His roommate-- a fellow inmate, from what he saw, was aggressive only to his back, and never instigated a fight. Sharkface simmered in anger-- he had lots of time-- reasoning that this fellow was just a fool who wasn’t worth his time, but a few nights with his rest disturbed, and he’d snapped.

Sharkface had asked those inmates who raised him, and the other inmate approached him in what he felt to be a potentially threatening manner-- making him bring out his own sharpened toothbrush. One shank through the ribs, apparently, punctured a lung. Given that the ship was understaffed and underfunded, and that they were in the middle of space, they did not get the injured fellow help in time-- though Sharkface was very quickly met with a taser to the side of his neck and a few pistols pointed at his face.

He could have died then. He did not, though he should have.

Sharkface was already in for life, so they did the equivalent of letting him stay alone, which was just fine with him. Nobody could disturb him. He didn’t need to talk to anyone just to get them to behave. Didn’t need them to see his pain, or the vulnerable moments before his eyes opened from sleep, still misted with a tear that threatened to fall down from the corner of his eye.

Then he joined the mercs, knowing that they would never be _home_ , not the way he knew them to be home. Not with Felix constantly breathing down his neck and trying to pick a fight, or the Counsellor asking pointless questions and pretending that he knew anything about him. Locus may have been different, but in hindsight, both of them were too far gone to actually feel anything close to friendship at that point in time. It was a strictly working relationship, which suited his agenda best. Like before, he asked no questions. The answers, whatever they were, didn’t matter.

There was the fight with Agent Carolina, and then Agent Washington shot him. That was all history.

*

The first scene when the three of them met again was a bit of a farce; General Kimball, Agent Carolina and Agent Washington were there, right beside a bubbly doctor who seemed a little bit unhinged and more than happy to leave him with more scars than he already had.

“I’m not dead.” Sharkface observed, looking up at Agent Carolina.

“That’s quite an observation.” She replied, with a way of chewing through her words, like she’d given it a lot of thought. He’d recognised the sarcasm.

Sharkface snorted. “If you expect me to kneel down and kowtow to you for letting me live, you have another thing coming.”

“That’s not what we-- ”

“Now, now!” The Doctor exclaimed, cheerfully. “Don’t strain yourself, Shark boy! That bullet did cause some internal bleeding, but since Agent Carolina told me about you, I thought I would not reorganise your organs. Though, if you’re missing a heart, that’s because we needed it for a good cause.”

Sharkface narrowed his eyes, and his hand instinctively flitted to touch his chest.

“She’s joking.” Agent Carolina interjected.

“So.” Sharkface kept silent. He looked at all of their helmets, which seemed cold and emotionless, realising that he was the only vulnerable one in the room. He was helmetless, dressed in a hospital gown, and a tube ran into his wrist by means of an inserted needle. “Why did you save me?”

Agent Carolina said, “They found you while looking for the casualties from the battle, and thought that witnesses would be useful.”

He snorted. “Who’s they?”

It was Agent Washington who spoke up, this time. “You’ve been fighting for the mercs, and you didn’t know?”

“Didn’t care.” Sharkface shrugged. “The mercs knew I had a history with the freelancers. I stayed so that I could kill you. Nothing else mattered.”

Washington started, as if he was preparing for a fight.

“It’s okay, Wash.” Agent Carolina stretched her arm out so that Washington would not step forward or reach for his gun. “He’s unarmed, and we outnumber him.”

Wash nodded, looking at him and then at her, and then stood in resting position again.

“By ‘they’, the freelancers mean us. The natives of Chorus. It was _my_ idea to let you testify.” The woman whom he came to know as General Kimball spoke up. “Agent Carolina told me about you. If you’re still interested in killing anybody here, remember that we have trained guards waiting for you outside, fully armed. We need you to testify against Hargrove-- the man who orchestrated a mass murder on our planet, Chorus, so that he could have access to valuable alien technology. Although… The UNSC seems to be blockading us right now, so it’s a tossup as to whether they will actually listen.”

Sharkface laughed. “What makes you think I know anything?”

“We will give you time so that you can think about it.” General Kimball stated, her voice even. “The evidence that Church sent them should speak for themselves, anyway.”

Agent Washington and Agent Carolina exchanged glances, and Sharkface wanted to get angry, knowing that the people who murdered his family were there, alive and well. He wanted to be so angry that he could lunge himself at them. It was as if even that emotion, that one source of motivation, had abandoned him.

Instead, he sat there, feeling drained and empty. He looked into the distance and shrugged. “I don’t care what you do to me, or of what use I am to you.”

Agent Carolina started. “I know what we did is unforgivable, but you don’t have to stay like this. You can always start afresh, Sharkface. Like we did.”

Sharkface sneered.

“I know it sounds easy for us to say, but it’s true.” Agent Washington spoke up. “We were working for a project that turned out to be corrupt for the inside out. And so were you. Locus and Felix never saw you as anything but pawns to be disposed of.”

Agent Carolina nodded.

“Do you think I’m dumb? Do you think I didn’t know that?” Sharkface wanted to yell, but his voice came out as a rasp.

“You just said that you didn’t know anything.” Washington replied.

Sharkface rolled his eyes. “I meant that I knew I was being used. Everything else didn’t matter to me.”

“The Mercs were helping Charon Industries orchestrate a planet-wide genocide.” Carolina interjected. “Just making sure we’re on the same page here.”

Sharkface fell silent. “They told us that we were going to war.”

“Well, they’re not wrong. It was a ‘war’ of extermination.” Carolina replied. There was a gravity to her tone of voice that made it sound like she was not accusing him, but still making sure that he knew exactly what he should feel guilty of.

Sharkface’s cheeks burned despite himself. “And why should I care?”

“You kept fighting me even though it was clear that you would lose. I gave you a chance to walk away, but you didn’t. You may have been used, but you were still helping the mercenaries with planetary genocide.”

The audacity of her assuming that she knew what was exactly in his mind almost gave a fresh spark of rage-- but there was nothing inside him to burn, not anymore. He shrugged.

Agent Washington spoke up at this point. “All those people would have lost their families, just like you did.”

“So what?” Sharkface mumbled, as he closed his eyes. His enemies had a point. He just didn’t care.

“Would it have made you any better than the murderers that you wanted dead if the mercenaries had succeeded?” Carolina asked.

Sharkface hated that question. “You don’t understand anything!”

“We do.” Carolina insisted. They glared at each other for what felt like eternity, neither one backing down.

“We should probably come back to this later, Carolina. We’ve both been there.”

“But Wash--”

“Sometimes,” Agent Washington said, his voice softening, “You just have to meet the right people to help you move on, like we did. Either way, I hope that he will choose to do the right thing.”

Sharkface snorted. It was not as if the Freelancers were offering to be those people. Or… Were they? He did not dare to hope. It wouldn’t work with Agent Carolina, either way. His pride wouldn’t let him.

*

Sharkface hadn’t met Agent Washington without his helmet until much later, when he had enough time to think about it, and realised that at the heart of it all, he didn’t care if he was dead or alive, because he had failed at revenge, and he knew that if he continued, they would kill him. Still, he had no desire to kill himself, either. He would rather close his eyes and hope that Doctor Grey really decided to use up his body parts.

The first time the freelancers visited him by themselves, it was with a generic basket of fruits. They stared at each other, helmets on, and Sharkface would have rolled over to his side so that he didn’t have to face them, if not for the tiny sting in his wrist reminding him not to. Instead, he lay there with his head turned away, even when they spoke.

“Wash wanted to bring you some MREs,” Carolina said. Sharkface thought that she must be smiling underneath that helmet of hers.

“Well, if he really hasn’t been eating like they said, it would keep longer.” Washington replied.

“Why _are_ you here?” Sharkface asked, voice too raspy for his own liking. He watched them from the corner of his eyes. He was sleepy from lying in bed all day, and it suited him just fine; he did not need pointless company.

Carolina and Washington looked at each other, like they so often did. It would have made Sharkface angry if he had any energy-- instead, he felt bitter, like he was reminded of what they had, that _he_ had lost.

“Should we go?” Washington asked.

“Yes.” Sharkface replied.

They nodded at each other, and, to Sharkface’s disappointment, he did not see them for a couple of days.

*

The visits remained short and non-conversational at first. Sharkface had staunchly refused to eat anything, and he simply unscrewed the drip that was flowing into his wrist. It hurt when he pulled out the needle, but he felt so weak that he was certain that he would just disappear, the way he wanted to.

He wanted to go with dignity. That sweet solace was disturbed when he was confronted with a couple of soldiers in red armor. He had no idea how they got past security, but they had taken whatever opportunity it was to invite themselves into his room.

“Those darned Blues were plotting to recruit a merc!” The man sounded old and southern.

Sharkface rolled over. Being disturbed by a couple of loud fools wasn’t how he wanted to go. “Who are you?”

“Oh look, a gift basket.”

“Get your grubby fingers out of there, Grif!”

“Ugh, _fruits_ . Of _course_ he’s not eating it.”

“Sir, if I may suggest a plan, we could give him some of Grif’s pizza rolls--”

“Hmm…"

“Fuck it.” The orange one shrugged, and took out a phone. “Let’s get him some pizza. Sam’s Pizza is the best pizza delivery.”

“Sir, if I may say so, his armor was black, steel and red, which would definitely make him a part of red team.”

“Good point, SImmons.” The man in dark red-- probably Simmons-- looked at Sarge, who was looking at him level in the eyes. “Those darned conniving Blues and Agent Wash’s pretty yellow stripe will NOT bamboozle me! Grif! Call the Pizza delivery! We’ve got to get this boy here into shape!”

 _Agent Wash’s pretty yellow stripe?_ Sharkface could not help but wonder if this man was truly as insane as he sounded.

“Already done that.” Grif replied.

“Sir, may I suggest some vegan steaks instead? Unless you want to make him Grif-shaped, Sir--”

“Nonsense, Simmons! That junk can’t be good for anyone! A good old double-stuffed crust is the American way!”

“Sarge!” An exasperated voice came from outside the door, and it bust open, with an annoyed Agent Washington popping in like a life-sized cardboard cutout-- only it was real. “I told you, we’re _not_ recruiting him, _and_ there’s no such thing as red team and blue team!”

“Fine!” Sarge grumbled under his breath and said something about spoilsports, as the Agent ushered the group of Reds out.

After they left, Agent Washington came back in, his body language looking somehow apologetic.

“Sorry. Sarge has a way of sneaking around and causing mayhem. I didn’t mean to let them know about you yet…”

“What’s red team?” Sharkface asked. “Their sergeant seems infatuated with you.”

“Uh, well,” Washington explained, seeming to ignore that latter comment, “They were part of a training program from Project Freelancer. They were divided up into red and blue teams, and were used as cannon fodder, or simulation troopers, for the Project. In a sense, they were victims of Project Freelancer as well. Like you.”

Sharkface looked at Washington. The man had a way of putting things. The corner of his mouth turned up in a dry smile. “I don’t want to be compared to _them_.”

Washington scratched his head. “Well, I meant their situation, not… Other things. They’re a very colourful bunch. Literally and figuratively.”

“Oh.” Sharkface raised an eyebrow. Washington had let his guard down, it seemed. It was almost _cute_.

“You’re not alone in the world, Sharkface. What has happened to you happened to all of us.” Washington continued, voice low. “Like I said, Project Freelancer was corrupt from the inside out. None of us knew what the Director was really doing. Even though these simulation troopers had been used, injured, shot at, and lied to by the likes of us, they still helped Carolina and I bring it down.”

“That still doesn’t justify murder.” Sharkface replied. He wanted to ask, if he wasn’t alone in the world, then who _else_ was there? But he didn’t. Someone like Washington would not understand.

“No. It doesn’t. _You_ of all people should know that, given how much you bring it up.”

“Why, you…” Sharkface let out a low growl. He did not want to admit that Agent Washington was right. Their situations did sound similar.

There was a knock on the door. “Excuse me, Sam’s Pizza Delivery.”

“Right.” Washington headed over to the door, and gave the delivery man a tip. “...Says it’s for Grif.”

They looked at each other. Sharkface’s gaze shot over to the pizza box. It smelled nice, and despite himself, he found his mouth watering.

“Looks like they left you some pizza.” Washington said, with what felt like a smile.

“I don’t want it.”

Agent Washington put it onto the table beside the bed, and pushed it over Sharkface’s hospital bed, so that he could sit up and eat it if he wanted to. He opened the box. “It’s seafood. I haven’t had seafood in a long time.”

With that, he took off his helmet and gloves, and reached for a slice.

Sharkface hadn’t expected someone like Washington to look like _that_. He thought that the person who shot him without a word would be all angles, probably douchey and with some kind of undercut like Felix, but… He looked like a normal person. Scarred, but who had unmarred skin as a soldier?

“The rest is yours, if you want some.” Washington said, as he swallowed his bite of the pizza. “It’s still hot. They even ordered chilli on it.”

Sharkface’s eyes darted over to the chilli, and he looked at Washington stubbornly. “If you’re trying to get me to let down my guard, you can stop now.”

“I’m not trying anything. I just haven’t had spicy seafood pizza in a long time.”

They looked at each other for what felt like eternity, before Sharkface blurted out, “Do you think you can just buy somebody’s forgiveness with a couple of pretty words and a pizza?”

Washington looked at him in surprise, and looked down at the pizza in his hand, before looking back up. When he spoke, his voice was clear like water. “No. Why would I?”

“So what were you planning? I already said that I don’t know anything. All that you and Agent Carolina seem to want is for me to let go. Why? Why let go of something that’s ruined my entire life and taken away everything I had? _Why deprive me of any reasons to live and yet still keep me alive?_ All of this-- all of this is really just to make you feel better, so that you can convince yourselves that _you’re_ still good people!”

Agent Washington stopped eating, and bit on his lower lip for a little. He breathed in deeply, like he was considering something, and looked at him with an earnestness that made Sharkface afraid. “I know it doesn’t sound believable to you, but it is the closest thing to the truth. You and I, and Carolina, have a lot in common. We were all used by Project Freelancer, and we lost everything that we had in the process.”

“It doesn’t excuse everything you’ve done!”

“It doesn’t.” Washington replied, with the kind of certainty that made Sharkface feel even more threatened.

“Then… Why?”

“Because--” Agent Washington looked at him-- “We had a chance to heal. If you can have revenge, it’s a way of providing closure. But life isn’t like that. Sometimes you have to protect yourself, or the people who need to be protected, if it means that revenge is going to hurt them. And sometimes, you can find a way to heal without getting revenge.”

Sharkface couldn’t think of anything to say. He stared at the Agent, at those dark eyes that looked back at him, at the way he seemed to just remember that he had a slice of pizza to finish, and he thought that both of them were insane, much like the reds. Washington was insane because he was sitting there eating pizza in front of the guy who’d been trying to kill him for the past couple of weeks, and Sharkface was insane because he was the one who’d believed Washington’s words.

When Washington was done, he looked up, put on his helmet, and said, “Don’t let the pizza go to waste. The Reds did order it for you.”

“I don’t want it.” Sharkface stated, even though he wasn’t so sure now.

“Well, it’s here if you change your mind.”

With that, Agent Washington left.

*

General Kimball was definitely not joking when she said that there were plenty of armed guards outside of his room, as Sharkface found out. But at least he had a shower and a toilet inside his own room, and could wash his hands and clean himself up. He felt much better after a hot shower.

Sharkface lay back onto his bed, let the empty pizza box sit on his table, and pushed said table away.

Of all the things to have in common, he and his enemy, Agent Washington, seemed to share the same taste in pizza.

*

Agent Carolina was the next to visit him. She sounded surprised when she saw the pizza box. “Who brought this?”

“Red team.” Sharkface shrugged.

“Figures. _Waaash…_ ” Her voice turned accusing, as she mumbled to herself.

It amused Sharkface, just barely, but he did not let anything show on his face. Agent Washington seemed different from the hardened freelancer that everyone made him out to be.

“I heard that you’ve been eating more lately.” There was a smile in Carolina’s statement, even though her helmet still made her look inscrutable.

Sharkface looked at her and shrugged in response.

“Well, I’m glad that you’re feeling better.” Carolina stood there, and it was beginning to bug Sharkface. “Life is always worth living, Sharkface. Don’t give up.”

Sharkface made a confused expression, and then gestured at the seat that Wash sat on before. “You can take a seat.”

Carolina nodded and sat down. “You’ve… changed. Was it red team?”

Sharkface smiled quietly and made another noncommittal shrug.

Carolina nodded, like she understood enough not to pursue the matter. They exchanged a couple other more sentences, and the mood was as jovial as it could get between two incredibly dry and proud individuals.

*

“I heard you had the pizza,” Washington remarked. “We’re were having Movie Night and you’re still on bed rest, so I brought you some leftovers.”

“What type?” Sharkface raised an eyebrow.

“Hawaiian.” Washington replied. “Pineapple on pizza is apparently very controversial.”

“Pfft.” Sharkface let out a short chortle. “ _That’s_ what you guys talk about?”

“Yeah.” Washington touched the back of his neck awkwardly.

“It’s not what you’d expect from a hardened murderer like you.”

“No. It’s not. And I’m not hardened yet. Probably.” He didn’t even bother to deny that he was a murderer, Sharkface noticed. Washington put the pizza box on the desk, and sat down. He removed his helmet again. “Well, I don’t do that anymore, either.”

“You mean to say that you’ve changed?”

“Yeah. That’s what I’ve been saying all this time.” Wash replied. “I don’t know what information you had got from the mercs, but Locus, in particular, was wrong about so many things.”

“What happened between you and Locus?” Sharkface asked. He always got the impression that the other man was more competent and stronger than the foul-mouthed Felix with a shitty attitude, but there hadn’t been much time to get to know one another.

“He said that I was a soldier. That I was ruthless, and that I was an enemy to the reds and  blues.”

“They did run things in a darwinistic way.” Sharkface frowned. “Though, Locus hopped between me and Felix to stop him. Not me. I found that strange.”

Washington smiled. “Locus wanted to be ruthless. A weapon. But he’s not. He knew that he was a murderer, and he felt bad about it.”

“Oh?” Sharkface raised an eyebrow. He always felt that there was something else to Locus than the foul-mouthed Felix, but he hadn’t cared.

“...Either way, he’s gone now. I thought he was dead, but I heard that he ran away.”

“How did you know so much about him?” Sharkface asked.

“I observed him for a while when we were at the Federal Army. He was observing me. You have to know your enemies.”

“...And yet you knew him so well.” Sharkface breathed in deeply, trying to think. It didn’t make sense. Nothing about Washington’s relationship with his enemies made sense. “It’s almost like you knew him as a friend.”

“Well, we were still enemies, no matter what. I tried to let him know that he didn’t have to continue sacrificing his own men, but Felix had quite a hold on him. Since Felix is dead and he’s still alive, maybe there’s time, yet. You could go find him, if Kimball has plans to let you leave after all this. But that’s not up to me to decide.”

“There’s no need. We weren’t friends.”

Washington looked at him awkwardly. “Anyway, I hope you don’t hate pineapple on pizza. It didn’t kill anything.”

“I like it.”

They smiled at each other.

“Do _you_?”

“Yeah.” Washington replied. He seemed to be relaxing around Sharkface. “Sarge didn’t. Grif sure did like it. It’s a very divisive topic. Luckily, we had Beef Supremo as well.”

“Red Team, huh?”

“Yeah, red team.” Agent Washington looked at the pizza. “It’s good when it’s cold, too.”

“Thank you.” Sharkface said, looking at him.

“Don’t mention it.”

“So, Freelancers used Red Team and Blue Team as cannon fodder. Did _you_ kill any of these people’s family, too?”

“Yes, almost. I shot one of their teammates.” Washington looked down a little. “Well, he survived, but I don’t know how he did. _These_ reds and blues, in particular, were my enemies at one point, but they decided to help me at the end of the day, even though there was nothing in it for them.”

“Enemies to friends, huh?”

“It’s a long story.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t like to talk about it, but I do know that it was wrong.”

“You went from trying to kill them to having movie nights together.”

“...Yeah.” Washington smiled. There was what seemed to be a quiet happiness on his face. “I guess things change depending on who you meet. Sometimes you end up meeting the good ones.”

Sharkface felt like he finally understood why Wash was acting the way he did. There were so many sides to Agent Washington, that Sharkface felt like he was looking at a masterpiece, where every view revealed something new and meaningful to him, as a perceiver.

*

Agent Washington had a way of looking at him that made a part of him want to flee. It was, at first, instinctual, and Sharkface ground his teeth at the thought of it, angered at how useless he was, deep underneath the surface of macho aggression.

It wasn’t that Agent Washington was looking at him strangely, or anything. It was the way he looked as he looked up at him with those eyes. It was the way he had his chin down and his shoulders relaxed, as well as the way those dark eyes seemed to take him in, unassuming yet with reservations. Finally, it was the general mildness of Washington’s manner when he wasn’t around the reds and blues, trying to usher them around like a mother hen, that was terrifyingly captivating. Washington’s voice was often quiet, with a hint of a smile to it, even when he didn’t look amused or like he was smiling, or had his helmet on, and the peacefulness it inspired in him made him afraid, as he felt that he would, for sure, lose it.

At first, Agent Carolina was the one who had taken the trouble of taking him under her charge, almost as if she felt personally responsible for him. Still, she looked like someone who could, and did, take care of things herself, with her square jaws and her eyes a cool shade of green. Sharkface hadn’t been surprised by how Carolina looked, mainly because he’d always expected her to look something like _that_. Someone who could, and did, hand him his ass-- to put it bluntly. She was short, like her half-brother, but she was also powerful, and that feeling projected outwardly, like a nuclear radiator. She was strong. Sharkface was not afraid of the strong, because, he, too, was strong.

Washington, though, was different. He was far from amicable or meek, but he did not project that outward aura of power the way Carolina did. He looked like someone who was always observing instead of judging, and though Sharkface had no doubt that he could probably fight worth his salt if he had the chance to duel him, there arose in Sharkface a strange desire to protect him instead of destroying him, and Sharkface _hated himself for it_ at first.

Strange, indeed, that what it took for him to hate himself less was for others to show him that they did not hate him.

That they could not be sucked into his circle of negativity, of past hatred and angst.

That they could, against all odds, _sympathise with_ him and thus, transform him from within.

Strange, indeed, that as he hated himself _for changing and letting go_ less, he was able to find a place within himself that looked at the present instead of the past, and could thus appreciate what was in front of him.

Strange, that bit by bit, that inspired in him the will to live.

It was Agent Washington’s words that had driven the point home; that they were, in fact, both in similar situations at some point, and could, at any time, choose to accept their newfound friends… and let go.

Sharkface had spent so much time thinking about those two; he knew that Agent Carolina was more likely to abandon her teammates, like Aiden Price, the mercs’ counselor, said she would, if presented with a challenge. He could understand her easily; he would have done the same thing. Left to their own devices, they could have sustain a rivalry easily, like a clash between two titans.

Price had less flattering things to say about Agent Washington, and he had heard from Price all sorts of things. Sharkface had laughed, at first, at the idea that Agent Washington used to wet his bed-- out of schadenfreude. If he didn’t have to work with Felix and Locus’ commands, he would have been able to crush Agent Washington easily, before going for the Freelancer on the top of the ranking board.

Not that it mattered; he would have still gone for Carolina first, because what kind of warrior would delay a fight with another equal and worthy foe in favour of the weaker one?

Now, though, it was different. He finally understood why the Counselor did not pit him against Washington, and set him against Carolina instead. Things would have ended differently if he had done the opposite. Carolina’s desire to be good came out of a sense of pride, and Sharkface could understand that. He did not trust it, because he understood pride too well.

Agent Washington was completely different from anyone he had ever known, and the interaction between them was like the magic of alchemy, transmuting old grudges-- heavy and dark as they were-- into pure, glimmering affection.

The man seemed to understand him more than he did himself, and Sharkface felt like he was looking into a one-way mirror, where only the other really saw what was going on. On his side, he had seen someone inscrutable, a being that he could not fully understand, and he found himself wishing, more and more, that Agent Washington would visit more often, so that he may observe and discern, and finally come to understand this perplexing being.

 _From where_ did that understanding and the sympathy come? Washington was as different from Sharkface as night was to day. 

It was Washington that bothered Sharkface, because he could not understand Washington’s unassuming humility. Even as Washington stood steadfast with his sense of right and wrong, he was the kind of freelancer that was humble enough to _become_ one of the reds and blues -- even though, from what he observed, they were rather silly little people.

Sharkface planned to observe the man, because even though Agent Washington made him afraid, he was past the point of fear. Perhaps there was a reason Locus was so obsessed with this freelancer. Sharkface was almost amused to think that he could find out why for himself.

His fear, however, did not arise because he was weak. Sharkface was, after all, the kind of person who had overcome years of grief and physiotherapy to crush his enemies. This required a different kind of courage. This required change from within, and that was much harder. It required hope.

Bit by bit, Sharkface found himself daring to hope that his attachment was not one-sided, that he could yet find another family, and that family could be composed of his old enemies. It was all because of Agent Washington, from the differences arising from the polarity of their characters, that he had been reformed.

For that, he was grateful, and perhaps, even a little bit in awe.


End file.
